


Cicatrix Scrapbook

by Cydersyrup



Series: Mad Intelligence [7]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Blood and Violence, Body mutilation, Crack, Explosions, Flashbacks, Lee Taeyong-centric, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Linear Narrative, boom boom mf, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27130828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cydersyrup/pseuds/Cydersyrup
Summary: Taeyong's scars tell stories. Sure, they're all life-threatening, violently action-packed, near-death experience stories, but that's just a minor detail.
Relationships: Lee Taeyong/Qian Kun
Series: Mad Intelligence [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715650
Comments: 21
Kudos: 131





	Cicatrix Scrapbook

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!!! Welcome to installment #7 of my agent au!!  
> Y'know, I was just in the mood to write how ty sees his life amidst all this madness and it doesn't matter if we've got midterms bc when we roll we ROOLLLLL babey~~~  
> Hope y'all enjoy, and stay safe during spooky season!!

The first serious scar Taeyong ever received is on the back of his neck. It’s not too long or very noticeable, just a clean, sharp line right where his hair ends at the nape. And sure, it hurt at the time, but Taeyong’s skin still prickles whenever he touches the raised scar tissue hidden just under the collar of his shirt. 

But it’s not all bad.

With the scar comes memories in the form of voices—young, a little too careless, a little too panicked, and just a smidgen too stupid.

* * *

_“Twenty bucks says you can’t cut Taeyong’s hair without him noticing.”_

_“Oh, please.” The boy addressed pulls out a small throwing knife from the holster on his thigh and flips it a couple times in the air. “You underestimate me, Kun.”_

_“I think it’s an appropriate estimation,” Kun retorts, taking a long sip from his water bottle. “We’re up here on the bridge, he’s down there by the sparring ring. Do the math.”_

_“I just did. It’s totally doable.”_

_“No, it’s not.” A shorter boy on Kun’s other side pipes in, leaning over the railing of the suspended walkway to stare down at the people milling about below. “Not from this angle. You’re gonna stab him.”_

_“No, I won’t.”_

_“Yes you will, Johnny.”_

_“I won’t! I’ll prove it!” Johnny cracks his knuckles and positions himself at the most optimal throwing position, keeping Taeyong in his line of sight. There’s about ten meters’ worth of distance between them, give or take a little due to the angle they’re at. Taeyong’s back is towards them, his dark brown hair tied in a loose ponytail reaching halfway down his shoulder blades. He has no idea what’s about to happen._

_“Question,” the small boy says right when Johnny raises his arm to throw the knife. “Why are you doing this with a throwing knife of all things? Why not just...I dunno, wait til he falls asleep and cut his hair with scissors?”_

_Johnny lowers his arm and sighs like he’s been asked this question his entire life. “Because hyung, Taeyong’s a light sleeper and he loves his hair. If he catches me in the night, I’m a dead man.”_

_“What makes you think that you won’t be a dead man in the middle of the day?”_

_“The fact that we’re up here, he’s down there, and none of us are allowed to carry guns yet.”_

_“This is a bad idea, Johnny.”_

_“Blame Kun. It’s his idea.”_

_“Yeah, but you’re going with it.”_

_“Taeil-hyung, relax. I scored second highest in our blades assessment. Nobody’s gonna get hurt.”_

_“I’m sure you’ll be saying that when Taeyong reaches for that fire axe and lobs it at your head.”_

_“Shh,” Johnny shushes, ignoring the vaguely offended look Taeil shoots him. “Nothing’s gonna happen. It’ll be just a snip and he won’t even realize who it is if we just continue walking along here like nothing happened.”_

_Taeil heaves a sigh and throws up his hands as he begins to walk away. “Whatever. I’m not involved in this. I warned you, Johnny.”_

_“Chill.” Johnny pulls his arm back once again, keeping Taeyong firmly in his line of sight. So far so good. The other boy is still talking to another one of the trainees. His ponytail swishes slightly with the small head movements he makes as he talks._

_In one quick, practiced motion, Johnny snaps his arm forward, the knife flying out of his hands and in a graceful arch towards its target. Kun leans dangerously over the railing to get a better look. Taeil is already halfway down the bridge._

_“YAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!”_

_“Oh.”_

_“Shit.”_

_“What happened?” Taeil drones from a good five meters away._

_“Well,” Johnny squeaks. “I cut his hair, alright.”_

_“Hyung, you also cut HIM.”_

_"It’s just a nick!”_

_“Just a nick?” Kun’s voice goes up an entire octave. “Do you not see that—that’s BLOOD on his hands!”_

_“Oh fuck, he’s looking around, we gotta go—”_

_“Well, now he’s looking right AT us, and that’s not just blood in his hands.”_

_“What is it?”_

_“I can’t really tell, I think it’s a—shit, DUCK!”_

_A fire axe cuts through the air where Johnny and Kun’s heads were a second ago, soaring right over the bridge and landing somewhere on the other side of the training dome._

_Taeil points listlessly in the direction the axe flew from. “Called it.”_

_“Oh man, he’s gonna kill us!”_

_“Kill YOU.”_

_“Argue later, run now! He’s coming!”_

_Taeil turns around right as two taller figures bolt past him, so fast that all he sees is a faint blur as a gust of wind blows his hair back. Taeyong is screaming obscenities from below, no doubt already booking it towards the stairs to catch Johnny and Kun halfway and murder them._

* * *

The next scar is on the left side of Taeyong’s left thigh, a dented, uneven pocket about the size of a small coin. It’s quite old, though not as old as the one on the back of his neck. The scar doesn’t hurt when Taeyong presses it. It feels a little strange and rough compared to the rest of his skin, but there’s no pain with it.

Just some well-deserved guilt.

* * *

_Taeyong regrets doing this._

_Everything about this raid is just wrong. The reinforcements of the drug house they infiltrated came faster than any of them could expect. Johnny’s gun jammed, which cost them time and nearly their lives when the first shots rang out. Kun has already been shot twice and Taeyong once before they managed to find shelter behind a metal shack near the back of the room._

_The Limitless raid is a warzone. Taeil has his rifle lifted to his eye and is taking calculated shots from where he’s hidden in the shadows behind them, but it’s not enough. More and more thugs come to replace the ones killed, and Taeyong has only six bullets left on his person._

_“Shit.” He leans back against the shack and thuds his head lightly against the metal. “Shit, shit, shit.”_

_‘What’s the plan now?’ Johnny’s voice hisses over his earpiece. ‘We can’t shoot our way out. We’ll all die.’_

_“I know that,” Taeyong snaps, biting his lip hard enough to bleed. “Fuck. This is all my fault.”_

_‘There was no way you could’ve known.’_

_“I could’ve done better scoping this shithole out,” Taeyong hisses back, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a grenade. His last one. “Take cover, guys.” He pulls the pin on the grenade and throws it in the direction of their targets, wincing as the motion puts pressure on his injured leg._

_There’s a soft clank—once, twice, then an explosion._

_“Get them!”_

_All at once, every agent at the scene shifts from their defensive positions, reaching out with their firearms to fire at the silhouettes dancing madly in the smoke. Taeyong manages two headshots and the steady bang-bangs from either side of him signals that his colleagues are performing not too badly themselves._

_Johnny has managed to unjam his gun, and is firing into the flailing bodies with all the bloodlust and malice of a madman. His shots never miss. Even Kun, bleeding from his shoulder and hip, manages to kill one or two people with the gun clasped in his good hand._

_It’s pandemonium. Just a cacophony of screaming and gunshots and hisses over white noise. Taeyong’s own guttural yelling joins the commotion as he places a well-aimed bullet between the eyes of one of the thugs shooting at them from across the room._

_‘—yong.’_

_Johnny tosses Taeyong one of his spare magazines and Taeyong reloads his gun in record time, hearing the familiar clicks alongside his pounding heartbeat. He leans a bit out of his only defense once again, gun raised and ready._

_“Taeyong!”_

_A hand suddenly shoves him aside, and for a second, time seems to slow. Taeyong feels himself propelling backwards, gun still firmly gripped in his hand, the other bending to safely cushion his fall. His leg flares with pain at the sudden movement._

_Taeil screams._

_And just like that, time starts flowing again. Taeyong snaps his head to the older agent, taking in his pained cries and blood streaming down his face in a second. In the next second, he notices the person standing five meters away, knife in hand and arm poised to throw it. In the third second, he has his gun raised at the guy’s head._

_By the fourth second, a bullet punches a hole clean through the attacker’s eye._

_Karma is a bitch._

* * *

Taeyong prides himself for his leadership and combat skills above all else, but his face is a pretty close runner-up.

Even now, he thinks he’s still quite handsome, with his angular features and piercing stare. The small scar over his eyebrow and cheekbone only adds a certain air of intimidation to his otherwise flawless appearance.

But if anyone asks, Taeyong would say he hates these scars the most. He hates them and the memories they bring.

The heartache they caused.

The marriage they almost ruined.

* * *

_‘Something’s not right.’_

_Taeyong cranes his neck, trying to find Mark in the sea of people and tables he’s currently enveloped in. “What’s not right?” he murmurs quietly, eyes scanning over the elegantly-clad bodies and dining tables spread all over the grand ballroom._

_‘Where’s Crown?’_

_All of Taeyong’s senses immediately go into overdrive, and he stretches his neck as far as inconspicuously possible, trying to scout out Kun from the room of unfamiliar faces._

_He’s not there._

_Mark is sounding more and more frantic as he rambles on about the bad gut feeling he’s getting, and Renjun shoots Taeyong a worried glance from his place a little farther up in the room. Their eyes meet, and as if reading his mind, the junior agent shakes his head minutely. He hasn’t seen Kun either._

_“Shit.” Taeyong excuses himself from his companions at the table and makes his way towards a less occupied portion of the room. “Ace, Earl, stand your ground. I’m coming by.”_

_‘There’s something wrong,’ Mark mutters. Taeyong can almost hear the way the boy’s eyes are darting around frantically. ‘Red, we’re not safe here.’_

_“The auction is about to begin,” Taeyong whispers. “I know it’s not safe. But we need to take out the auctioneer fast, and this might be our only chance.”_

_And just as soon as the words leave his mouth, the curtains on the stage at the very front of the room pull open, revealing a tall, tuxedo-clad man with a white mask._

_“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. What a pleasure to invite you all tonight to view our newest batch of goods,” the man announces. “Our specialty tonight: young, beautiful, and wonderfully tender. Shall we bring them up?”_

_A round of applause erupts over the room, and Taeyong bites back his disgust as a line of teenagers are brought up onto the stage, wrists and ankles in chains and dressed scantily in sheer robes. They’re well-groomed, in good shape, but terrified. Taeyong can see the fear in their eyes from halfway around the world. He hopes that he can never see it again._

_“All agents, stand by,” Taeyong growls, feeling his anger beginning to boil at the sight of the innocent children being forced to kneel on the stage._

_“The bids will begin at $150,000 US dollars for the first one,” the auctioneer announces, waving his arms flamboyantly at a beautiful young boy with freckles and a mop of golden-brown hair. “Do I hear $150,000? Yes! $155,000? $160,000? Oh, how about $170,000?”_

_The prices hike higher and higher, and with it, Taeyong’s rage. His fingers itch to wrap around his gun and blast the auctioneer’s head clean off, but no, that’s not the plan. He needs to wait._

_“$200,000? And let’s try $220,000. Yes! Now, do I hear $250,000?”_

_‘Red,’ Renjun’s voice hisses over the earpiece, sounding strained._

_“Fire at the half-million mark,” Taeyong commands quietly, making his way towards the spectators by the wall as effortlessly as a phantom._

_“$400,000? Do I hear $450,000? $475,000?”_

_Taeyong waits._

_“Right, do I hear $500,000?”_

_BANG!_

_A woman screams as the auctioneer’s head snaps back, spattering the boy he was auctioning off with blood. There’s immediately a frenzy as people start dropping down or trying to run away, shoving each other and running over chairs and tables to find the exit._

_“Cross, Ring, get the captives out of here,” Taeyong barks, seeing two figures immediately dart out from behind the stage curtains and quickly usher the teens out._

_‘Red, there’s something wrong,’ Mark’s voice says again, now sounding just short of panicked. ‘We need to go, now!’_

_Before Taeyong can even utter an answer, there’s a loud explosion from the other side of the room, so powerful that the entire wall blows open, showering the panicked masses with wood and plaster. Not even two seconds later, gunshots join the mix, a steady symphony of mechanical gunfire into the crowd. Taeyong immediately drops to the ground, crawling his way over to where he saw Renjun and Mark last._

_‘Red!’ Renjun screams._

_‘Red, Earl!’ Mark yells. ‘Where are you?’_

_“Earl! Ace!” Taeyong whips his head around as people rush past him and are instantly gunned down. “I’m coming towards the doors. Where are you two?”_

_‘I’m at—’_

_BOOM!_

_There’s another explosion, much closer than before. The force of it sends Taeyong flying against the wall. He crumples down besides a splintered grand piano, and barely manages to pull himself up when yet another explosion propels the heavy instrument right into him._

_“Fuck.” Taeyong groans as he pushes against the collapsed legs of the piano, using all his strength to get this mess of wood and wires off of his lower half. His cheek is burning and so is his forehead. Blood drips down his face and onto the crisp white shirt of his tuxedo._

_The room is a complete haze, the air clouded with dust and smoke and the ground is littered with motionless bodies. And yet, through the fog, Taeyong sees a familiar figure, clear as day._

_Kun stands by the exit, a semi held in his hands and eyes raking over the occupants of the room, as if searching for someone to kill._

_Taeyong sees Kun look at him. He swears he sees it._

_But then like smoke in the wind, Kun is gone, his figure retreating from the room before Taeyong can even open his mouth to call for help._

_And maybe that is the last push he needed. The last drop of oil in the fire. Rage floods Taeyong’s system with a burning heat, and he throws off the broken piano with a yell, scrambling to his legs, which are thankfully intact and functional enough to drag him over to a squirming torso under a pile of collapsed wall._

_Mark is blessedly unhurt. A bit scraped up, shaken for sure, but well enough to stand and run around to find Renjun a minute later._

_Taeyong thanks his lucky stars that the boys are alright._

_Even though he can't say the same for himself._

* * *

The other scars are mostly small, some so thin and light it’s hard even for Taeyong to notice. They’re scattered all over his arms and torso, small cuts and slices and lines of delicate stitches from a particularly rocky bit of his life that Taeyong would happily never live again.

Johnny gives him a lot of shit for them. Not like he’s any better for the neck scar he gave Taeyong almost fifteen years ago, but still.

These scars are all relatively new, healed within the past half year, and they serve as a daily reminder of how badly Taeyong and his husband truly, royally, beyond a shadow of a doubt _fucked up_ on their marriage.

And it makes Taeyong shy, showing these scars to anyone else but his husband. Not that he would be self-conscious about showing off a couple lines of collagen, but after “That Incident” in which he received those scars, every single one of his colleagues, friends, and pseudo-family members have refused to look at them. And on the off chance that they do, the results are always unsavory.

Mark cries.

Johnny rambles for HOURS about how stupid Taeyong and Kun are.

Doyoung and Yuta roll their eyes so hard in synchronization it’s almost creepy.

Jaehyun straight-up just _leaves_ the room.

And honestly, thinking back on it, Taeyong wouldn’t blame any of them.

* * *

_The first knife comes straight towards Taeyong’s face. It’s a sharp throw, quick and ruthless like the man wielding the blades. Taeyong barely has time to kick up a bo staff into his hands to parry off the knife before another one’s coming at him, this time aiming for his chest._

_“RUN!” Yukhei yells somewhere off to the side. There’s a brief commotion as all the other agents scamper off to the exits of the training dome to avoid being caught in the crossfire of Taeyong’s increasingly violent spar with Kun._

_A blur of movement off to the side catches Taeyong’s eye, and he barely registers it being Jaehyun before his attention snaps back to Kun, who’s glaring at him with murder in his eyes and knives in his hands._

_This is unfair._

_Kun has an entire plethora of knives and all Taeyong has is a bo staff in one hand, a baton in another, and his last resort in a zipped-up pocket._

_More knives fly his way, and Taeyong bites out a curse as he hurriedly bats them away. But before he can even catch his breath, even more metal is aimed at him, and Taeyong wills himself to concentrate on surviving this attack._

_Kun throws his knives in his signature style—quick, precise, and aiming to kill. Taeyong dodges and fends them off like it’s his second nature. They’ve worked together for years already. No trick Kun pulls from his sleeves can surprise Taeyong anymore._

_A knife flies dangerously close to Taeyong’s heart, and he barely manages to twist away in time, though not fast enough to avoid being nicked in the shoulder. Kun is glaring at him with pure fire in his eyes as he opens his coat, revealing rows upon rows of knives lining the inside._

_Taeyong hates him. Oh, to all the stars in the universe and back does he HATE him._

_“Director!”_

_Taeyong feels himself get whiplash as something wraps painfully around his waist and he’s suddenly jerked to the side. From the corner of his eye, Taeyong makes out two more knives soaring at him, but a flash of metal and a loud clank later, the crisis is averted._

_“Get the director away from here!” Doyoung shouts to his husband, and not a moment later, Yuta is by Taeyong’s side, desperately trying to get his attention._

_“Alright! Sir—”_

_“You two stay out of this!” Taeyong yells, raising his baton to his face to deflect another couple of knives and wincing when one grazes his bicep. “This is my issue to settle!”_

_“Sir,” Doyoung hollers back. “With all due respect, one of you might die!”_

_Taeyong sidesteps a knife. “That’s the fucking point, Agent Kim!"_

_Someone else starts shouting, but Taeyong doesn’t have the capacity to figure out who it is at the moment. All he can do now is dodge and divert and maneuver his way around the sparring ring as his homicidal husband continues to launch mid-range attacks at him. Kun’s face is twisted in exertion, his lips moving rapidly to form words Taeyong doesn’t care to make out._

_And somewhere behind them, Taeyong can hear Mark cursing Johnny out in rapid-fire English._

_Everything is happening so fast and all at once. Taeyong doesn’t see the gun being pulled out, nor does he see who pulled it, but a shot rings throughout the dome, loud enough to throw him off guard for a moment._

_He’s lucky that break in focus didn’t get him killed._

_Kun flinches back like he just touched fire, dropping the dented knife in his hands. He glares at Yuta, who’s standing just off to Taeyong’s side, gun raised and pointed at the Chinese branch director. Without a word, another knife is pulled into Kun’s grip and he reaches back to throw._

_Yuta pulls the trigger as a flash of black sprints towards Kun._

_BANG!_

_CRACK!_

_Taeyong’s eyes widen impossibly, mouth hanging slack as Ten tumbles past Kun in a flurry of limbs, a baseball bat clenched in one hand. He rolls to a graceful stop a couple meters away, panting and wild-eyed. Kun blinks, looking stupefied but otherwise unharmed._

_Now’s his chance._

_In one fluid movement, Taeyong drops his defensive weapons, reaching down to unzip the pocket of his pants and pull out what might be the stupidest decision he ever made in his life._

_“Wait—where the fuck did he get that grenade?” Mark yelps distantly._

_A twisted smile crosses Taeyong’s eyes as he sees realization, then shock, and finally fear flood over Kun’s features as he pulls the pin._

_And without thinking twice about the consequences, Taeyong hurls the explosive at his husband’s face._

* * *

The newest batch of scars are…

 _Well_...

Taeyong can safely say Mark paid him back in full after all these years of him terrorizing the young agent with dangerous missions and “That Incident”.

Two sets of dimpled, crescent scars nearly overlap each other on Taeyong’s left calf, right under the back of his knee. They’re still a bit pink with how new they are, and a bit tender to the touch.

And to think, Yukhei is the one with teeth capable of crushing bone.

Taeyong initially thought the Hong Kong agent would be the one to pop off and start biting people.

He thought wrong.

* * *

_‘Chief Director.’_

_Taeyong presses the answering button atop his desk. “Yes, Jungwoo?”_

_'Your assistance is required in the development lab, sir.’_

_“What’s the situation?”_

_‘Agent Lee has returned, and he’s been drugged.’_

_“Is he hostile?”_

_Something crashes over the line. ‘Very.’_

_Taeyong shoots up from his desk, already making a beeline towards his door. “Say no more!” he shouts back into the room._

_It could be a hoax, he knows this as well as anybody. But when it comes to Agent Mark Lee, anything said about him is automatically treated as gospel. The kid has earned himself that much from his reputation already._

_And when Taeyong finally sprints into the labs, he’s not disappointed. The place is in shambles. Yuta is ducked behind a portion of the wall, holding a large metal tray as a shield as Mark runs around throwing glassware with one hand and swinging around a lamp with the other. Jaemin is in the panic room in the back, arm bleeding from a puncture wound that Jeno is currently trying to treat. Donghyuck is by Jeno’s side, using the other boy’s lab coat as a tissue for his bloody nose. Jungwoo is hunched over on his hands and knees just outside the panic room, one hand to his throat. Chenle is hovering over the older man protectively, goggles askew on his face and looking ready to cry._

_“What the fuck?”_

_“Sir! Oh, thank god you’re here!” Yuta says as he rushes over to Taeyong, tray held protectively in front of him as he pushes both himself and Taeyong behind another portion of the wall._

_“What the hell happened to all of you?” Taeyong asks, not sure if he actually wants to know the answer._

_“Mark stabbed Jaemin in the arm with a ballpoint pen and tried to strangle Jungwoo with a charging cord right after he called you. Donghyuck tried to pry him off an got a keyboard to the face.”_

_“What happened before that?”_

_“Woo and I greeted Mark when he came back and he seemed off, so we disarmed him and brought him here.”_

_“Smart. But why not the infirmary?”_

_“Jeno couldn’t tell what he’s on. We thought Chenle might know.”_

_“And?”_

_“Good news, he does.” Yuta beams, but the smile quickly melts as his eyes shift to somewhere to Taeyong’s side. “But bad news—”_

_“AGH!” Taeyong yells when hands suddenly grab his leg and he feels teeth sink into his calf. Mark is on the floor behind him, gripping Taeyong’s leg hard enough to bruise and chomping away like Taeyong’s a walking piece of beef jerky._

_Like seriously, where did the kid even come from? Taeyong swears he last saw Mark wreaking havoc on the OTHER SIDE of the room. And he honestly can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing, because Mark’s mastered the art of silence a little too well for someone dangerously under the influence of an unknown drug._

_“Okay,” Taeyong grits out as he tries to pry Mark off his leg. Blood is already starting to stain his pant leg a dark brown. Holy fuck, does Mark have some bite in him. “So what’s the plan?”_

_Yuta stares at him blankly. “I thought you’d have one.”_

_“Sir!” Both men raise their heads to see Jeno running towards them. His white lab coat is stained with blood. Most likely Donghyuck's. “Let me help you!”_

_“Jeno, wait!”_

_Taeyong watches in horror as Mark’s head snaps up, and before he can react, the young agent has leapt off the floor like a pouncing tiger. He dodges past Yuta’s attempt to grab him and hits Jeno with a sharp uppercut that physically hurts Taeyong to witness._

_Yuta catches Jeno before the medic can hit the ground. “I’ve officially had enough of this nonsense,” he says, uncharacteristically stern. “We’re fixing this now.”_

_Taeyong pauses his mental short-circuiting to shoot Yuta a very distasteful glare. “You sound like Doyoung.”_

_“And we need you to think like him for a bit while I go get him,” Yuta says, shoving Jeno’s prone form at Taeyong and running for the stairs. “He’s in your hands, sir! I’m sure you’ll figure something out!”_

_“Yuta!”_

_“I’ll be back before you know it!”_

_“Shit.” Taeyong hauls Jeno over his shoulder and hobbles as fast as he can towards the panic room, keeping Mark in his line of sight the entire way there._

_He has no idea what the exact fuck came over the usually mild-mannered, respectful young agent, but one thing’s for sure._

_This is going to be one hell of a story to tell at the next holiday dinner._

* * *

The scars don’t go away.

Taeyong doesn’t think they’ll ever go away. He's learned to live with them. In fact, they’re endearing in their own way, telling stories and memories in their existence. Some of them even mark the time he finally began to put his tattered marriage back together. They’re the ones Kun gently traces his lips over in apology, trying to kiss away the pain buried beneath his skin.

It’s his own way of reminiscing. Taeyong understands. Not all the stories carved into his skin are the same. 

Some are traumatic.

Others are devastatingly tragic.

And a few are just plain hilarious.

A saying sticks with him, uttered by Taeil from his place behind a wall of monitors. He's gazing at Taeyong with that one sharp, scrutinizing eye of his—another old scar from one of their shared stories.

“In hindsight, they’re all riots.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are always much appreciated!! :))  
> Eat lots of yummy fall treats and take care! mwah <3
> 
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/Cydersyrup)  
> [twt](https://twitter.com/Cydersyrup)


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